Harold's POV
I'd barely gotten the words out when a deafening blast shattered the air.
A massive fireball, easily several meters tall, burst from a sharp curve on the track in a brilliant flash of orange and red.
The cheering spectators fell silent, then erupted into screams as panic rippled through the stands. People scrambled over each other, desperate to escape.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted above the chaos.
"Did a bike just explode?" another voice called out in disbelief.
Security teams sprinted toward the wreckage, quickly setting up barriers to contain the scene.
That's when it hit everyone—the rider who'd been running second hadn't crossed the finish line. The crowd's excitement turned to dread as the horrible realization sank in.
From my spot in the VIP suite, I stared at the inferno below, my stomach dropping. My phone buzzed against my palm.
Malcolm's name flashed on the screen. I picked up immediately. "Talk to me."
